The wrinkled lines of the older man’s brow drew together. “I have seen warriors from Head Carrier’s band on our way here.” He held up both hands, all ten fingers splayed. “This sleeps.”
Riley nodded, as though the words made perfect sense to him. “They were a war party or hunting?”
The question seemed to wipe the expression from the man’s face, leaving it with lines sagging and no sign of emotion in those eyes that had been so expressive a moment before.
Riley must have realized he’d erred in his question, for he spoke again quickly. “I only ask if it is safe to bring these women.” He motioned toward her and Rosemary.
The man’s focus flicked to them, then back to Riley. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “I do not know how Head Carrier’s warriors will act. I only know my son, that he will be fair to all. Even the pale hair.” His gaze moved to Juniper. Or more specifically, to her hair.
She had to work hard not to shrink back, or even raise a hand to cover her hair. She’d been wearing it in a single braid down her back for most of the trip. The first morning away from St. Louis, she’d realized how unmanageable hairpins would be on horseback all day, especially since none of them had brought a mirror.
The way this man’s hand lifted a tiny bit gave her the feeling he wanted to reach out and touch her, though three or four strides separated them. If he did, should she allow it? Perhaps Riley would step in, or at least give her a sign of what she should do.
But the man didn’t approach. Instead, he turned back to Riley. “My son, Mountain Chief, has gone with his young men to race the horses. If you do not find the woman you seek with the Gros Ventre, come back and speak to him.”
Riley nodded. “I will.” He shifted so his attention included the older woman. “Thank you for answering our questions.”
The woman nodded, as regal as Queen Adelaide herself.
Then Riley turned and gave a single motion with his hand to show that she and Rosemary should walk ahead of him. Perhaps he did it to be a gentleman, or perhaps he did it to place himself as a shield while they retreated to their horses. Probably not the latter. Their reception here had been friendly. Hadn’t it?
There’d been an undertone through much of the conversation, but the feeling seemed to have shifted several times depending on what was being said. This tribe certainly seemed to have a hierarchy among them.
What would it be like to live here with these Indians? It seemed the younger women held little authority to speakunless given permission, at least to strangers. This bold undertaking she and her sisters had set out on likely wouldn’t be allowed. Would it? Yet perhaps adventurous women were lauded. Maybe that’s how the grandmother had earned her standing.
An image of their own grandmama slipped in, the one who’d passed away only a year before Mama. She’d not been so regal as this Peigan woman. She’d been a doer, always stitching or working in the garden or visiting. When her granddaughters came to visit, even in her older years, she’d greeted them with a hug and kiss on the cheek and the offer of a sweet.
It had been a while since the weight of grief pressed so hard on her chest for Grandmama, but tears stung her eyes now even as she took her horse’s reins from Lorelei and reached her boot up to the stirrup.
Silence settled over them again as they rode. Not true quiet, for the squeaks of their saddles and the distant thundering and whooping of race spectators maintained a steady noise.
But there seemed to be a tension among them that kept any in their group from speaking. She needed to talk with her sisters. To absorb each part of the information they’d just been given, to pick apart expressions and nuances and decide what was said without being spoken aloud.
Riley broke the quiet first. He rode on her left again, with Rosemary on her right and the other three behind, as they’d been on the trip out. “What are your plans now?” His voice didn’t ring loud enough for the question to be directed at all of them. Perhaps to her and Rosie, though it felt more like he addressed her specifically.
She slid a glance at her older sister. Rosie gave the slightest of nods, communicating her opinion on two things—yes, they would pursue the lead they’d been given here and visit the Gros Ventre camp, and yes, she could give that answer to Riley.
She adjusted her focus forward again. “We’ll go to the Gros Ventre camp they spoke of and ask if anyone knows Steps Right. Can you tell us how to reach that place? Is it directly north of the trappers’ lodgings?” If several Indian camps were clustered upriver, they would need to know how to decipher which belonged to the Gros Ventre. Or perhaps they could ask when they got there. Yet could they count on every village having someone who spoke English?
Riley shook his head. “There are camps of several tribes. Your blue eyes and brown hair will fascinate them, and at the very least they’d want to touch your braid. You can’t go there alone.” His voice hardened more with each word, laced with solid determination.
The thought of strangers, especially natives, swarming around her and touching her hair made her want to shrink back. Was it truly the color that drew them—a much lighter brown than the others’ raven-black locks—or the fact that she was a white woman? She couldn’t quite believe the latter would make no difference.
Riley loosened the tight line of his jaw enough to speak again. “I will take you. Can you all be ready to leave an hour after sunrise tomorrow morning?”
Did he really want to accompany them again? They were hardly his responsibility. “Don’t you have work to do instead of escorting us around?” He didn’t seem to be helping them for amorous reasons. He didn’t doff his hat or try tokiss the backs of their fingers as a dozen trappers had that morning before she and her sisters had retreated back into their lodge. He seemed curious, not lovestruck.
So why would he feel the need to ignore his own affairs and invest himself in theirs?
“Like I said earlier, some of the camps haven’t seen a white woman in years, maybe even decades. And most of the natives never have. It’s not safe for women to parade themselves through all these men.”
Parade?
He clamped his mouth shut, as though holding back the rest of what he wanted to say. Still, he’d said enough.
And she could easily fill in his unspoken words.You four must have taken leave of your senses to come out here without a host of men to protect you.Or better yet,You should have stayed home and stitched pillows or painted fire screens and sent your men to do the investigating for you.
She forced herself to relax. To breathe in, then slowly out. And when her mare bobbed her nose, Juniper eased the tightness of her reins. Riley wasn’t saying anything they hadn’t been told by their father’s solicitor, by the men with whom they’d arranged transportation, and by every fellow in the wagon train except Mr. Provost himself.
